


though i try not to (can't help but want you)

by bleuvelvet



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Feelings Realization, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Rimming, Secrets, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuvelvet/pseuds/bleuvelvet
Summary: Under the effects of the potions and the toxicity they bring, after the monster of the day (week, month) has been butchered, Geralt is cold. Unbearably, interminably, all-encompassingly cold. The kind of cold that sinks into the marrow and stays there forever.All Geralt wants is to be warm again.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 217





	though i try not to (can't help but want you)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by listening to War of Hearts by Ruelle and Human by Rag'n'Bone Man back-to-back, then wondering what would happen if Geralt was affected by the toxicity of his potions like Yonekuni is affected by the cold in the manga Sex Pistols. You may want to check the end notes for more on this, as I explain the mild dubious consent there a little more.
> 
> Title was taken from War of Hearts lyrics.
> 
> Lastly, I'm a garbage human being. Please enjoy, lol.

Under the effects of the potions and the toxicity they bring, after the monster of the day (week, month) has been butchered, Geralt is cold. Unbearably, interminably, all-encompassingly cold. The kind of cold that sinks into the marrow and stays there forever.

Except it doesn't stay forever. Not really. Eventually, the potions wear off and he is warm again. But, until then, the only thing Geralt wishes for is the one thing he cannot have while black veins trace across death-pale skin. The warmth of another body against his. Human warmth.

When he can, he tries his best to build a fire high and lean against Roach, but it's not what he yearns for, what he needs. It's not what he _wants_.

What he wants is a warm body to surround himself with; one he can drown himself in. He wants tender touches on his sensitive skin and heat to bury himself in.

But that's not something he can have. No human could want him that way. He knows that, but it doesn't stop him from wishing for it.

Vesemir would have called this wanting a weakness and the old man was probably right. Geralt can't help it though, especially on the coldest nights when the wood is too wet for a fire and Roach is nearly as cold as he is. So, as much as he can, he tucks the wanting away until the next cold night when he's exhausted and his teeth ache from gritting them against the trembling.

It won't get better. He knows it won't get better, because who could ever want something as inhuman as him?

*

Strangely, he doesn't mind the bard as much as he expected to. Yes, the boy is loud and obnoxious, detailing his every thought to his less-than-captive audience, but he is strangely charming as well.

He talks to Roach. Or, well, he _says_ he's talking to Roach when Geralt makes a snide remark on one of Jaskier's improbable stories and could Geralt keep his ears to himself please? And then he turns back to running a brush over Roach's coat, continuing his story in a lower tone even though he knows Geralt can still hear him.

And Geralt just blinks at him. Because he's never been dismissed so easily by a human before. Usually, at any hint of his...otherness, humans will pale and smell sick with fear. This human, however, completely turns his back to Geralt and ignores him like the witcher is the least fearful thing in existence.

Geralt takes a deep breath through his nose to test it and finds that the bard only smells of marjoram and horse, with a slight bit of chamomile from the oils he uses on himself and Geralt. No fear. Not even the slightest hint of it.

In fact, thinking about it, the only time he even smelled any fear coming from the bard was when they'd been tied up together with elves hissing threats at them. And even then, the scent had faded into sadness when Filavandrel had described the plight of his race.

He has never met a human who so willingly felt for another, especially for those not of his own kind.

*

He tries to stay away from the camp for as long as possible. It's the first time he's needed so many potions to fight a monster while Jaskier has been with him and he doesn't want to scare the bard away.

But the shivering as his body tries to warm itself is getting worse and his vision is starting to darken around the edges. He needs to get warm. If only the damnable bard would go to sleep so he can huddle by the fire for some warmth.

Unfortunately, the bard continues to strum and sing softly, features lit by the flames of the very fire that Geralt wishes to get close to. Maybe he can sneak around the edge of camp and leech some warmth from his horse. He's done it enough times that Roach knows to stand still and let him.

He pushes himself up from the birch tree he was leaning against and his vision blackens and he knows nothing anymore.

He awakens tucked into his bedroll, morning light filtering through the tree leaves, the scents of himself, his horse, and the bard surrounding him. He sits up and finds Jaskier staring at him with a strange look on his face. 

Fuck. He doesn't remember last night very well, just brief flashes of seeking warmth, but he must have scared the bard because he's never seen the boy with that sort of look on his face before.

Well, if the bard decides to leave, best to get it over with now. "What?" He grunts.

Jaskier startles, as if he wasn't expecting to be addressed, but then the mildly concerned look comes back on his face. "Are you alright," he asks, softly.

Geralt struggles out of his blankets. "Hm." He creaks to his feet and sets about breaking down camp. His brow furrows as he realizes he has not just his blankets, but the bard's as well.

He looks over at Jaskier, bemused, but the bard just shrugs. "You seemed cold."

"Hm." He separates the blankets and packs them away.

*

The next time he overdoses on his potions, he is alone. It's as miserable as it has always been, but he can't help but feel as if he is missing something this time.

He shrugs it off and continues to shiver miserably by the meagre fire he was able to build from the damp wood. Oddly, he finds himself wishing for the bard's presence. It's late autumn, however, and Jaskier has headed back to Oxenfurt for an assistant teaching position. 

They parted ways in Ellander and Geralt had found himself mostly relieved to be free of the boy's company. He no longer has to worry about scaring the bard with his inhuman eyes and dark veins. He can tremble miserably by the fire's scant warmth instead of waiting out in woods for the potions to wear off.

When he wakes the next morning, he feels less rested than he had when the bard had been with him.

*

He meets the bard again in late spring outside Vizima. He can hear him coming, the whistling and strumming give him away, but he makes no move to rise from his seat on a fallen tree trunk by the road. He hates going to Vizima as it is mostly surrounded by swamps and the smell irritates his nose, but there's always drowners and water hags inhabiting the area so it's a steady source of income while he figures out where to go next.

"Ah, Geralt!" The bard smiles brightly. "Fancy meeting you here." He slings his lute off his shoulder and himself onto the log next to the witcher. "What brings you out this way?"

"Drowners," Geralt answers, picking mold off of his bread.

Jaskier digs through his pack and exclaims triumphantly when he pulls out some hard cheese. "Ugh, drowners. Nasty little beasties."

Geralt turns to look at him. Only Jaskier would consider drowners to be 'nasty little beasties' and speak about them in the same tone of voice one might use for such things like a mangy dog or worm-filled apple.

The bard must feel his stare, because he turns to Geralt mid-bite and raises an eyebrow. He then looks down to the cheese still in his mouth, pulls the hunk away, and proffers it to the witcher. "Want some?"

Geralt shakes his head and Jaskier takes his cheese back. Then the bard takes a deep breath and launches into a recounting of his winter at Oxenfurt and how it was very peaceful without his long-time nemesis, Valdo Marx. The troubadour had recently been offered a position at the court of Cidaris and could not take his usual classes, for which Jaskier was very thankful.

After Geralt has finished his bread, he hauls himself off the log and goes to collect Roach. Jaskier follows, still chatting away. Geralt mostly tunes him out until he hears Jaskier call out to him, his voice slightly tense.

"Hm?"

"Where are we going?"

The witcher turns in his seat from upon Roach's back and stares at the bard.

"Well, see, only I'm supposed to be going _to_ Vizima. I've been invited to play at a party hosted by Velerad, the Burgomeister." The bard looks around nervously. "And it sort of seems like we're heading further into swamp territory."

Geralt sighs and turns his horse around. He hadn't planned on going into Vizima, but considering the bard had walked right by the turn-off with the big signpost pointing towards the city, he doesn't trust Jaskier to make it. He could escort the boy through the old city and to the gates before making his way to the swamps. The drowners weren't going to be killing themselves any time soon, at least. A shame, since it would make it easier for Geralt to collect on his contract.

*

Jaskier continues to travel with him, more often than not, during the warmer months of the year. It's nice, in a way, because the bard brings with him a certain amount of respectability as well as coin. The song he penned about the elves gains in popularity and he gets invited to more court functions.

It is also an annoyance, as when Geralt inevitably overdoses on his potions, he has to try to wait the bard out again until he can gain warmth.

And, like what happened last time, his vision blackens around the edges. When he wakes up in the morning, he has the faint impression of lingering warmth and the blankets are all piled on top of him again.

When he looks in askance at Jaskier, the bard shrugs and mumbles something about him being cold again. The steady heartbeat tells Geralt that he's not lying, but there's a trace of _something_ on Jaskier's face that tells Geralt that he's holding something back.

But the bard doesn't seem disturbed, so Geralt figures he is in the clear. There is no way Jaskier would still be so calm and comfortable around him if he'd seen what the elixirs and decoctions do to Geralt.

It happens twice more that year. Each time, Geralt wakes up feeling well-rested and warmer than he normally does after an overdose. He shrugs to himself and figures that his body must be forcing a shutdown of his more basic motor functions in order to preserve his organs. At some point, he must stumble back into camp and into his bedroll.

Jaskier does not seem to notice anything amiss other than he seems cold during these times and piles his blankets on top of Geralt's. It is a surprisingly generous gesture, considering how selfish and unaware the bard can usually be.

*

Several years into their acquaintance, the boy becomes a man and convinces Geralt to accompany him to a betrothal feast for Queen Calanthe's only child. Geralt does not really want to go, but Jaskier has learned how to use those blue eyes of his to devastating effect. Geralt leaves the discussion feeling rather like he has been played and also a better understanding of how the bard gets so many married women to fall into bed with him.

The party is a disaster. Geralt had known it would be. (Not the sword-fight part, though. That had been rather fun. Almost worth obtaining a Child Surprise.)

He leaves the palace and vows to never return. Which is good, because the queen has barred him from ever entering the city again.

He also leaves Jaskier there, the trouble-making little shit.

*

It's nearly two years before he crosses paths with the bard again. He doesn't want to admit it, but it's been a little lonely without the other man. Certainly, it has been colder.

The monsters this year seem particularly active and Geralt has gone over his natural toxin immunity three times in the last month. He hasn't felt properly warm since his last night at Kaer Morhen, almost four months ago. He can't sleep from the way the cold has sunk into his bones.

Like every other time he meets the bard, he hears Jaskier before he sees him. He is singing a particularly raunchy and unflattering song about Nilfgaard's ladies when he stumbles to stop and greets Roach.

He ambles over to where Geralt is casting his net for what feels like the hundredth time and offers the witcher his flask. Geralt ignores him and Jaskier takes this as permission to carry on the conversation by himself. He fills Geralt in on details of his relationship with the Countess de Stael- there no longer is one- and insults the witcher's skill at fishing.

Eventually, the bard wheedles out of him that he is searching for a djinn. He's not quite sure how Jaskier manages to do it, though if he had to guess it has something to do with the happy-guilty squirm Geralt's insides do at being termed Jaskier's friend.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he had _missed_ Jaskier, trouble-making arsehole that he could be. He'd wondered where the bard had disappeared to for two years, though the court of the Countess makes sense.

It's then that he feels a weight to his net as he pulls it back to him. There's a bottle caught in it. He holds his breath in anticipation. Finally, he can get some sleep and maybe also some relief from the wretched cold.

It all goes to hell after that because of course it does, Jaskier is involved, why wouldn't it?

He does get to sleep, though, finally. And some of the chill leaves his bones as he latches on to Yennefer's heat.

It gets a little easier for him, after he meets Yennefer. They run into each other from time to time and sometimes, when he is lucky, she is around for a toxin overdose and he can leech some heat from her. He doesn't have to worry about her disgust. She's not completely human anymore either.

*

He runs into a bunch of nekkers in a cave, drinks one too many Blizzards, and stumbles back to his camp where he can at least soak up some heat from the fire. He stumbles to a halt before he can break the treeline. Jaskier is there petting Roach and asking her where her master is. 

Roach, the fiend, flicks an ear and glances over her shoulder in his direction. He swears this incarnation of his horse is part kelpie; she is much too aware for a normal animal.

He ducks down when Jaskier glances in his direction and stays down as the bard makes himself comfortable at the fire. It's getting into autumn now, so the air is colder than usual. Geralt is already starting to shiver.

He tries to keep the dark at bay for as long as possible, but eventually he succumbs to it.

When he wakes up, as he normally does on the morrow, something is different. He feels sated, for one thing; like he was finally able to completely shake the chill from his bones.

As for the second thing, his nose picks up the combination smell of spend and shame coming from the bard. He looks over to Jaskier, whose head is down and the tips of his ears are red. His hair is wet and he is buttoning his doublet into place; something he rarely does when travelling with Geralt.

It takes a moment, but Geralt thinks he understands the situation. Jaskier must have snuck away while Geralt was unconscious for a moment to himself and felt ashamed of leaving a man he has loudly proclaimed as his best friend alone whilst vulnerable.

Suddenly, Geralt feels a deep well of affection for this impossible man. Jaskier has travelled with him for over ten years and has never once smelt of fear because of him. He takes care of Geralt when Geralt cannot take care of himself.

He rises from the nest of blankets and does his best to smile at the bard. After a moment, Jaskier smiles back.

*

There is a dragon hunt, a loss of life, a loss of a lover, and the loss of a best friend.

He'd felt Jaskier beginning to pull away from him since the djinn. He doesn't blame the bard. His wish nearly cost the man his life. He just hadn't thought he'd be losing the bard so soon.

The odor of sorrow and shame got worse every time they ran into Yennefer. And every time the smell heightened, the more reticent Jaskier became with him. The smell permeated the air around Jaskier for the entire journey up the mountain. Geralt knew that this was it; their last adventure together.

After Yenn makes her feelings about him abundantly clear to him, he can't stand the thought of Jaskier doing the same. He lashes out first.

Jaskier walks away. His scent of marjoram and chamomile lingers, tinged with sorrow.

*

He has Ciri with him when he runs into Yennefer again. She sweeps them into her inn room, takes one look at the thin girl shivering from the cold, and takes pity on him.

"This doesn't mean I've forgiven you," she warns as he readies himself for the hunt.

He nods, because he knows that; understands that they have much they need to talk about before they can get to anything approaching okay again. But he's glad she is there. He was running short of coin, too afraid to take a contract and leave Ciri alone. He trusts Yenn to keep her safe.

He stumbles back in the dead of the night, pupils blown wide and shivering from the frost that has settled underneath his skin. He is almost to the room Yenn and his child are in before he detects a scent that he thought he'd never get to breathe in again.

The sweet smell of marjoram wafts from the room across the hall from Yenn and his Child Surprise. He staggers toward it and thumps against the sturdy wood door, unable to keep himself upright. His vision greys out as he listens to footsteps in the room.

The door opens and he hears "Geralt? What-" before he tips completely into the dark.

There are flashes this time; of heat, of gasps, of a warm body pressed to his own.

He wakes, as he always does after these episodes, surrounded by the scent of Jaskier. It's more pervasive this time, confined within the room as it is. The scent of sex is heady. He must have stumbled into the bard's room just after the man had entertained a guest. Strange that he doesn't remember smelling it before he staggered into the room.

He pushes himself out the bed, noting the pleasant warmth in his limbs. Jaskier must have allowed him to share the bed. He'll have to thank the bard, just as soon as he apologizes for his harsh words on the mountain. It is past due, especially as Jaskier still shows him kindness even as he has every right to turn him away.

When he's in the hall, he hears a furious whispering coming from the room Yenn had claimed as her own.

"You need to tell him," he hears her say.

"No." Jaskier's voice. He's not surprised that the bard and sorceress have run into each other.

"If you don't, I will." Light footsteps make their way towards the door, followed by quicker, heavier ones.

"No! Please don't." Jaskier sounds...not quite scared, but certainly something close to it.

There's a ruffle of cloth. "You need to tell him," Yennefer hisses again. "He's hurting you."

From somewhere deep within, Geralt feels anger stir in his gut at this mysterious man.

"If I tell him, he'll only feel guilty." Jaskier says haltingly.

"Good." The rage in Yennefer's voice echoes his own.

There's a pause. "I don't want to lose this."

"Oh, Jaskier." Geralt blinks. He's never heard Yenn sound so tender before. "I'm telling him."

"No, wait!" Loud thumping footsteps echo their way to the door before it swings open. Geralt blinks down at Yennefer, who is framed by the doorway, Jaskier behind her with his hand outstretched.

"Ah, Geralt, just who I wanted to see." She smiles viciously. "Jaskier has something he needs to tell you."

He looks to the bard, whose eyes are wide and rimmed in red. He feels his gaze narrow. He'll gut the son of a bitch that hurt the bard. "What's going on?"

However, at that moment, the smell reaches him. It's a nearly overwhelming combination of Jaskier, sex...and himself. He blinks and looks at the bard again.

His neck is covered in purple marks. They disappear under the collar of his chemise, but Geralt has no doubt that they extend down the length of his body. It hits him, then. A flash of a memory. Tasting the fair skin of a collarbone, the feeling of sweat-slick skin under his hands, the little gasps of pleasure. 

' _Geralt, please!'_

It's gone as quickly as it comes and he blinks it away to stare in horror at the bard. "No."

Jaskier only looks down and away, the scent of shame souring the marjoram.

"I couldn't have…" His gaze narrows in on the bard. He can’t have. He would have known if he and the bard had…done something.

Swiftly, he steps forward and grabs the bard around his wrist, grip tight. He tugs him forward and into the room across the hall. Slamming the door to the room, he pushes the bard across the room and onto the bed.

“Geralt, what are you-” Ignoring the bard, he tugs on the laces of Jaskier’s silk pants and shoves his hands down the back of his trousers. His fingers come away wet and sticky. The scent of spend and himself on Jaskier intensifies. He looks down at the bard, whose face is red, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “How long?”

The muscles in Jaskier’s throat work as he swallows. Geralt growls as the motion brings attention to the marks on the pale expanse of skin. They’re the perfect size and shape for his mouth. “How long, Jaskier?”

“Since the nekkers in the cave, if you’re talking about just the sex.”

Geralt sits back on his heels, stunned. “That was over five years ago.”

Jaskier nods. The rest of what the bard said catches up to him. “ _Just the sex_?”

The bard bites his lip. “You’ve been cuddling me since we first met.”

Geralt stares at him. “I’ve been…”

Jaskier nods again, this time a little more emphatically. “Since the hunt with the kikimora? A few months after our encounter with Filavandrel.”

Geralt remembers. It was the first time he’d needed to use potions on a hunt with Jaskier in his presence. He thought he had stayed away from the bard until the potions had worn off. “And you just let me?”

“Ah, well, you were very insistent,” Jaskier temporizes.

“That isn’t really reassuring, Jaskier.” A wave of self-disgust hits him, making him curl into himself, fingers digging into his scalp. “Why did you let me do this to you? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have found a way to stop.”

Carefully, the bard sits up, pulling his legs out from under Geralt and straightening his trousers. “At first, I thought you were aware and just desperately needed the warmth,” Jaskier starts to explain. “It only happened a few times over several years, so I didn’t think about it much. It wasn’t until after the nekker cave that I realized that you didn’t know what you were doing. I also realized around that time it had something to do with the potions you take.”

“They make me cold,” Geralt explained, a numbness taking him over. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Instead of answering right away, Jaskier flushes, bright red down his entire face and neck. “I didn’t want it to stop,” he admits.

Geralt stares at him. More words tumble out of the bard.

“I knew if I said something you’d stop taking the potions if I was around and I didn’t want you to risk yourself like that.” He’s playing with the hem of chemise now. Even during moments like this, the bard can’t keep still. “And, well, I liked it. I liked having you like that.”

“Like what?” Geralt rumbles.

The bard twists the hem he’s holding so hard Geralt fears he may actually rip it. He remains silent for so long that the witcher thinks he’s not intending to answer the question. Just as he’s about to press Jaskier again, the bard speaks. “Geralt, you must know how I feel about you, after all these years.”

Geralt’s heart tries to leap out of his throat.

“I’ve wanted you since before the djinn,” Jaskier continues saying. “When you got together with Yennefer, I tried to shove it down and forget about it, but then you came to me that night after I’d found your camp and instead of just cuddling like you usually do, it went further.” The sour scent of shame filters out from the bard. “I let it go further.”

The bard smells and looks so miserable that all Geralt wants to do is reach out and touch him; put a comforting hand on his knee. But, with everything that has happened between them, he’s not sure his touch would be welcome.

“I knew you were with Yennefer, I knew you weren’t in your right mind, and I still encouraged you to be with me in that way.”

Geralt shakes his head. “You weren’t scared of me?”

“Scared?”

“When I first came to you? The potions, their effects- black eyes and veins, pale skin- I must have looked like a monster.”

Jaskier shook his head. “No, Geralt, no. You didn’t look like a monster to me.” Hesitantly, he shifts closer to the witcher. “You looked like a man who desperately needed the warmth of human touch.” Slowly, he raises a hand and lets one of his long fingers graze across the witcher’s cheek. “It was something I was happy to provide.”

There’s a low, keening sound and Geralt is horrified to learn that it is coming from him. Warm hands cup his cheeks. “Oh, Geralt, I’m so sorry.”

Immediately, Geralt is shaking his head and grasping bony wrists in his hands. “No, it is I that should be sorry, Jaskier.” His voice is rough with emotion. “I forced myself on you!”

Thumbs stroke along his cheekbones. “Geralt, I wanted it. I wanted to be with you in any way possible, even if it was just as a comfort to you when you most needed it. Even if you wouldn’t remember.”

There is a dampness on his cheeks. He’s crying, he thinks. Geralt has never cried before. But, there’s this wonderful man in front of him, telling him that he’s not afraid of the witcher- that, in fact, he wants to be with him- in whatever way possible. Geralt can’t believe he is so lucky.

He wants to keep him. If Jaskier will allow it.

Suddenly, Geralt is frantic. His grasp on those wrists tightens. He needs to tell the bard. Everything. Right now.

“Jaskier, I-” The mountain. He needs to apologize first. “I’m sorry for what I said on the mountain.”

“Geralt, you don’t-”

“Please, let me get this out.” He moves his hands to gently rest over the ones that are still cupping his face. He waits until Jaskier nods, before continuing. “I knew you were pulling away, but I didn’t know why. Yenn had already left me. I didn’t want you to leave me, too.”

Jaskier’s face immediately softens into something sad, like his heart is breaking _for_ Geralt. “Oh, Geralt, no. I just- I felt guilty, because I was using you to satisfy my own desires when I knew you were with Yennefer. I didn't want to step in anymore where I wasn't supposed to be, but I didn't know how to stop.”

And that was the other thing Geralt needed to address. “Yenn and I...what we had was at best a casual relationship.” He takes the bard’s hands in his and lowers them into his lap. “You weren’t stepping into anything.” He rubs a thumb over his knuckles and lets himself hope, just a little. “You wouldn’t be stepping into anything. If you wanted to, uh-” He stops himself before he can start stuttering. “Yenn and I aren’t together.”

There’s still something sad in Jaskier’s eyes, but Geralt thinks he sees a little hope there as well. “Geralt, it’s not just that. What you said, after all I had done, it hurt. Even if I was being selfish.”

Geralt closes his eyes against the hurt. He knew it had been a long shot. Still, he’d hoped. He squeezes the hands in his gently, just once, and lets them go. “I understand,” he says, looking directly into Jaskier’s blue eyes. “I didn’t mean what I said on that mountain. I was afraid.” Funny, how easy it was to admit that, now that he had nothing to lose. “But what was said cannot be unsaid. I understand that. I hope one day I can earn your forgiveness.”

There’s a breath of silence. Then two. Then he hears Jaskier muttering, “oh, fuck this,” and there are fingers digging into his hair and he’s being jerked forward into warm lips. He is stunned, for a moment, but then it registers that _Jaskier is kissing him_ and he kisses back. He tilts his head so they slot together better and moves his mouth, drinking in the taste and feel of the bard.

The fingers in his hair try to draw him closer. He slides his hands around Jaskier’s waist, bunching up the soft material of the chemise. Around him, the scent of marjoram and chamomile and something spicy that Geralt thinks is Jaskier’s lust, rises. He groans into the kiss.

He wants to feel skin. He wants to have Jaskier and _remember_ it this time. But, he doesn’t know what Jaskier wants. Reluctantly, he breaks the kiss. This causes a little whine to leave the bard’s mouth. He kisses his way over the bruises on the bard’s neck soothingly. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

The bard pants, obviously enjoying the attention paid to his neck. “I want you,” he says simply.

Geralt hums in appreciation. Slowly, he works his way under the material of Jaskier’s shirt. He’s met with smooth skin over a leanly muscled torso. The warm feel of it is better than he had imagined. He peels the shirt off the bard and leans back to look at him. Jaskier gives another of those little disapproving whines, but lets him go.

There are marks everywhere. Perfect, mouth-shaped bruises cover nearly every part of the bard’s body. His eyes catch on one that is just under the bard’s nipple. He wants to taste it.

Flicking a glance to the bard’s wide, lust-glazed eyes, he leans in and smooths a tongue over the mark. He tastes the salt of Jaskier’s skin and can't help but hum in approval. He moves his tongue up, lightly passing over his nipple before gently latching on.

“Oh, gods, Geralt.” The hands are back in his hair. He gives another approving hum before moving on, up the bard’s chest, nosing at the soft hair curled there. He makes his way up the smooth column and back to the plush mouth. Gently, he pushes Jaskier onto his back and kneels above him.

Jaskier’s hands trail down from his hair, over his shoulders and arms, to the hem of Geralt’s own shirt. He tugs at it and Geralt gets the hint, nearly ripping it off in his haste. He leans back down over the bard and they both moan at the sensation of skin on skin.

Lust is starting to cloud Geralt’s thoughts, now. His dick is hard and aching. Through the cloth of their pants, he can feel that Jaskier is in the same state. He wants to touch him. All of him.

His trousers are still loose from where Geralt had undone them earlier, so it’s easy to pull them down and off Jaskier’s long legs. His braies follow immediately.

The bard is a sight to behold. All pale skin, dusted with chestnut hair, and purple marks that proclaim that he belongs to Geralt. It makes Geralt ache to have him. He wants to mark Jaskier up all over again just so he can remember what the bard sounds and tastes like as he does so.

Best of all, however, is the way the bard’s cock stands out proudly in its nest of chestnut curls; flushed with heat. Geralt wraps a gentle hand around it, holding it softly, just enjoying the warmth that emanates from it.

“You know,” the bard pants after a few moments. “There are much more interesting things you could be doing with that.”

Geralt’s smile is feral. “Oh?” He squeezes a little harder before releasing him completely.

Jaskier pouts. There is really no other way to describe the expression on the bard’s face when Geralt’s hand moves away from him. It quickly changes, however, when he realizes that Geralt is shoving his own pants off. “Holy fuck, yes.”

Geralt smirks a little at that. Surely, the bard must have seen it before, but the reaction is still very bolstering. He settles on his elbows and knees over the other man, leaning in for another long, luxurious kiss. When he finally breaks it, it is to work his way down the bard’s body, gently laving attention on any of the purple marks that catch his attention.

He pauses once he reaches the bard’s hips. He kisses and tongues his way around his erection, but doesn’t touch it.

“I swear to Melitele, Geralt, if you don’t do something with that soon I’ll-” Jaskier cuts himself off with a groan as Geralt swallows around his prick. “Oh, gods above, that’s good.”

Slowly, Geralt moves up and down on the other man’s hard dick, flicking his tongue at the underside of his frenulum. “Fuck, that’s really good,” Jaskier pants. His hands settle in Geralt’s hair again. It seems his bard has an overt fondness for it, Geralt notes.

He pulls off when he feels Jaskier getting close. “No, no, come back,” he whines.

“Shh,” he soothes, running a hand over a hairy thigh. “I’ve got you.” Gently, he noses down over his balls, full with good health, and then further still. He coaxes the bard’s legs up, his feet resting on the witcher’s back, so he can see better.

He inserts his thumbs between the bard’s cheeks eases them apart, exposing the bard’s hole to his gaze. The tiny furl is still wet and glistening, evidence of previous activity from the night before. Down there, from his vantage point on the bed, he can smell the combination of his own spend and Jaskier’s lust. His dick twitches in anticipation of laying claim to him again; of filling the bard with more of his seed.

Slowly, he leans in and licks over the soft muscle, tasting himself on his bard.

Above him, Jaskier keens. The grip on his hair tightens.

He does it again, this time dipping his tongue into the hole, just a little. This gets an even longer keen and then, like a dam breaking, Jaskier starts babbling.

“Oh, gods, Geralt, that’s so good. You’re so good to me.” Fingers flex in his hair. “Please, I want you. Need you. I need you in me. Be so good for you.”

Geralt’s self-control starts to shred. As Jaskier continues to beg and moan, Geralt carefully inserts a finger into the bard. He’s tight, but still slick and welcoming. The scent of their lust rises around them. Geralt adds another finger, opening and closing them as he thrusts carefully into Jaskier’s willing body.

“Yes, that’s it. More. Want more. Want you.” Jaskier babbles. “Want it all.”

Fuck, the bard isn’t making this easy on him. Geralt wants nothing more than to thrust into that hot, tight body; to finally feel that warmth surround him, but he won’t hurt him. Never again.

At three fingers, Jaskier is wriggling and squirming, trying to get Geralt to go deeper. The witcher props himself up a little higher, and the bard’s legs fall off of his back and onto the mattress. He lays one arm across the bard’s hips and angles his fingers up. The next time he thrusts in, the pads of his fingers rub across a small little bump.

Jaskier shouts, hips nearly coming off the bedding, if not for Geralt’s forearm holding him down. He turns his lust-blown gaze down to Geralt and glares. “I swear to all that is both holy and un-holy, Geralt of Rivia, if you do not get in me _now_ I will finish myself off and leave you to suffer alone.”

Well, when he puts it like that. Geralt rises up onto his knees and shuffles closer. His dick is flushed red with blood and he doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard before. He swipes his fingers through the precome that has pooles onto Jaskier’s belly and uses it to slick his cock. It takes all of his self-control to take his hand away from himself after a few strokes. There’s something better waiting for him, anyway.

He hooks one elbow under the bard’s knee and bends it back to his chest, exposing him to the air of the room and giving Geralt better access. He takes his dick in his other hand and guides it to the soft mouth of muscle that is the bard’s entrance. Slowly, he pushes against it until just the head pops in.

He stops there for a moment, looks up at Jaskier, and finds the bard’s gaze already fixed on him. “Okay?”

Jaskier nods enthusiastically. “Yes. Good, Very good. Keep going.”

Geralt grins at him and pushes in a little more. He groans as the soft heat continues to envelope him. He watches as Jaskier’s entrance stretches to accommodate his girth. He can feel the muscles inside flutter at the intrusion. It feels like Jaskier’s body is trying to pull him in.

Once he’s fully seated in the bard, he can’t hold back a groan at the sight Jaskier makes. The bard is flushed and panting, his expression glazed over in lust, pupils blown wide. His cock is red with arousal and drips precome onto his belly. His entrance is stretched wide around Geralt’s dick, filling him.

Jaskier digs a heel into his back. “You going to do something with that or just stare at it?”

Cheeky bastard. Geralt smirks down at him and leans in. “It does make for a rather pretty sight,” he tells him, then pulls his hips back and thrusts in.

Wonder of wonders, Jaskier flushes at the compliment. Still, he doesn’t hold back a groan as Geralt begins to move. He hooks his other arm under the bard’s thigh until he’s got him bent nearly in half. From the way the bard moans at his next thrust, the change in angle is appreciated. It also allows Geralt to get deeper.

Before long, Jaskier is begging for him to go faster, harder. And who is Geralt to deny such a pretty plea? He picks up speed, thrusting into his bard tirelessly. He feels the heat build low in his belly and a tell-tale tingle forms behind his balls.

“I’m close,” he pants into Jaskier’s mouth. “You?”

Jaskier nods, beyond words now as he gets closer to orgasm. Geralt grits his teeth, determined to hold on until the bard comes first.

Moments later, Jaskier shudders, head thrown back as he comes; his spend streaking across his stomach and chest. His muscles spasm as his orgasm rips through him, tightening around Geralt where the witcher is buried within him. That’s all it takes to set Geralt off as well and he stutters through a few more thrusts before releasing deep in the bard, filling him with more of his seed.

He gasps into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, catching his breath before slowly, gently lowers the bard’s legs down to the bed and eases himself out of the warm body. He collapses next to the other man and wraps an arm around him, pulling him close.

Jaskier goes easily, turning onto his side and nuzzling at the hair on Geralt’s chest. They lay like that for a few moments, curled around each other and catching their breath. Geralt runs a soothing hand up and down the bard’s back, enjoying the feel of skin against his palm.

Once he’s breathing normally again, Jaskier eases back from Geralt a little, looking up at him.

Geralt can’t quite parse the look on the bard’s face. There’s affection there, certainly, and also a little something like worry. He watches as Jaskier bites his lip before soothing it with his tongue. He feels his dick give an interested twitch as he watches the slick muscle, but ignores it for now. Jaskier looks as if there is something he wishes to say.

He’s proven right moments later when the bard opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, and says, “I want you to know that what I’m about to say isn’t just because of the fantastic sex we just had.”

Geralt nods.

“I love you.” Geralt feels his eyes widen at the declaration. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

He stares at his bard in amazement. While he had hoped that Jaskier might still share his feelings, he’d been prepared to have to work his way back to them. As long as the bard was willing to give him a chance, he would prove his devotion every day.

He pulls Jaskier tight against him, burying his nose into the soft, chestnut hair. The sweet scent of marjoram and Jaskier’s satisfaction, combined with his own, surrounds him. It feels like home.

“I love you, too,” he murmurs into the soft strands. The honeyed scent of happiness rises.

After taking a few moments to bask in it, Geralt pulls away. He grabs a shirt from the floor and uses it to wipe himself and the bard down before tossing it back onto the ground. He settles back down into the bed, pulling the sheet over himself and his lover.

He’s on the edge of sleep when he hears Jaskier say, “Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Did you just use my very nice and expensive silk-embroidered chemise to wipe up come?”

Geralt’s eyes pop open and he stiffens. Fuck. Maybe if he holds very still, Jaskier will think he’s dead.

Jaskier tries to smother him with the pillow instead. “That shirt cost over seventy crowns!” He starts beating Geralt with the pillow instead, as the witcher pushes him off.

Rolling the bard under him, he kisses him, softly. Slowly, Jaskier stops struggling and relaxes into the kiss. Once he has sufficiently calmed the other man down, he pulls away. “I love you,” he says, rubbing his nose against the bard’s.

Jaskier laces his fingers through white hair. “I love you, too,” placing another quick kiss on Geralt’s lips. “But you’re still buying me a new shirt.” He tugs on the strands.

Geralt grins down at him. “Maybe I can make it up you to another way,” he leans in again, intent on making the bard forget about the shirt.

There’s a knock on the door. “Geralt?” It’s Ciri. “Are we leaving soon?”

He buries his head into Jaskier’s shoulder and groans. Underneath him, his bard shudders with repressed laughter.

Right, he’s supposed to be taking his Child Surprise to Kaer Morhen. Not that he forgot, exactly, just that he had something else that was occupying his mind at the moment.

That something was currently playing with a strand of his hair, twirling it around nimble fingertips. He looks up at Jaskier, considering. 

The bard noticed. “What is it?”

“Would you want to come with us?”

“To Kaer Morhen?” Geralt nods. “I’d love to.” Jaskier smiles up at him.

Geralt has never felt so warm.

**Author's Note:**

> About the mild dub-con: I labelled it 'mild' because in my mind, they both would have wanted it, but it's not talked about beforehand. Also, any sex resulting from that is off-screen.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment or kudo if you enjoyed this work!


End file.
